


Seasons Change (waiting on you)

by slytherinbarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinbarnes/pseuds/slytherinbarnes
Summary: a four part miniseries with each new addition taking place during a different season, this miniseries explores your friends with benefits relationship with steve, and how things progress over the course of a year.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 24





	1. i. winter will crave what is gone

**Author's Note:**

> this idea was taken from my old marvel blog, so if the first part seems familiar, that’s why! however, it has undergone changes, and the other three parts have never been seen before, so I’m excited to finally share this series!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: discussions of death, smut. 
> 
> summary: a holiday party at the Avengers Compound takes an exciting turn for you when you run into a familiar supersoldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this idea was taken from my old marvel blog, so if the first part seems familiar, that’s why! however, it has undergone changes, and the other three parts have never been seen before, so I’m excited to finally share this series!

_December 21, Avengers Compound Holiday Party, New York._

You catch his eyes across the room. 

Bright blue eyes track you as you saunter to the bar and order another martini. The bartender prepares it quickly and slides it to you, and you wrap your manicured hands around the glass and pull it towards you. You lift the speared olives from the glass and raise them to your lips, eyes still locked on his. Red painted lips wrap around the olive and pull it off slowly, and he shifts in place, ignoring the conversation around him. Feeling satisfied with yourself, you smirk, before returning the olives to the glass and taking a sip. Your eyes are pulled away from each other as everyone’s favorite billionaire steps on the stage. 

“Happy Holidays, everyone! As you all know…”

As Tony begins his speech, your eyes flash to the super soldier again. His eyes are on stage, watching Tony, and you take a second to admire how he perfectly fills out the dark blue suit that hugs his body. As your eyes rake back up his body, they land on his, and this time he smirks at you. Caught in the act, you blush and turn away, just as Tony finishes his speech up front. 

“I can see Pepper glaring at me from the back, and I’m letting you know that I hear you loud and clear, honey!” The crowd laughs, and he gestures to the DJ, “Bring back the music!”

Santa Baby floats through the speakers that are stationed throughout the room, and without another glance towards the blond haired pillar of strength, you place your glass on the bar along with a tip, and turn to leave the room. As the lights cut across the dance floor and land on your dress, the red sequins stitched along the fabric catch in the light and leave red reflections on the floor in your wake. 

You slip out of the large room unnoticed, and your heels click across the tiled floor as you make a beeline for the elevators. You press the button and wait for the doors to open, before stepping inside and pressing the number for your floor. The doors are nearly closed when an arm slips between them, forcing them back open, and you watch as the doors slide open and give way to the velvet suited man from before. 

You quirk a brow as he steps inside, and you shift closer to the buttons, hand raised to press the number for him. You turn to him, your voice confident as you smile at him sweetly. “What floor?”

His eyes watch as the doors slide closed, and he steps closer to you. “Whichever one you’re going to.”

Before you can let out a sassy remark, he closes the space between you. The built up tension from the night pulls you to him like a magnet, and your lips collide in a heated frenzy. Your hands go into his neatly done hair and you tug him impossibly close, messing up his grown out hair in the process. His hands roam over your dress, one sliding over your backside, another up your spine. A chill passes through you before the elevator dings, and you both pull away long enough to confirm that it’s your floor, before stumbling out of the elevator and down the hall to your room. When you reach the door, you struggle with the key, lust leaving your movements clumsy and unfocused. He’s pressed close behind you, lips attached to your neck as he leaves small marks all over the sensitive skin there. 

You finally get the door open and you pull him inside, and he kicks the door closed before spinning you around and pressing you against it. Your lips immediately find each other again, and you reach up and tangle your fingers into his golden hair, enjoying the sounds he makes when you tug on the locks. His hands slide behind you again and move straight for your zipper, and he begins to guide it down your back. The movement brings you back to reality and you push him away. “What about the party?”

He quirks his head to the side, watching you closely “What _about_ the party?”

“Won’t people miss the great Captain America?”

He shakes his head and leans in again, “Bucky and Sam will cover for me.”

His lips connect with yours again, ending the conversation. This time, you let him pull the zipper all the way down, and he reaches up and pushes the fabric off your shoulders, the dress sliding off your body and pooling at your feet. You pull your hands out of his hair and reach for the jacket of his suit, tugging it off quickly. You reach for the buttons of his shirt next, pulling them apart with ease, before pushing that off his strong frame and onto the floor. His shoes and pants are next to join the pile of clothes, quickly leaving you in equal states of undress. You guide him backwards towards the bed, before pulling away and pushing him back onto it. 

He lands with a small bounce, and he watches you closely as you lift your leg onto the bed beside him. He reaches for your leg and pulls it closer to him, letting it rest on his thigh. He unstraps your shoe and slips it from your foot, before guiding your foot back to the ground and motioning for the other. You lift your left leg up and he repeats the same process, discarding the shoe on the ground beside the other. He lets his fingers trail up your leg, over the bump of your knee, and to the soft skin of your thigh, before he leans down and lets his lips follow the same path. He pulls you closer as his lips move higher, and you lean back and smile at the sensation. When he reaches your thigh he stops, and you look down in confusion. Steve is looking up at you with hungry eyes, and your smile grows as he pulls you to straddle him, one leg on either side of him. 

In one swift motion he unhooks your bra, and his mouth falls to your chest, tongue and lips working together to pull a moan from your lips. He stands and you wrap your legs around his waist as he turns and lowers you to the bed, now situated beneath him. You unhook your legs and his kisses start to move lower, down your torso, over your belly button, until they stop at the top of your underwear. He looks up at you, a question in his eyes, and you nod. His breath hits your skin as he pulls your underwear off, and as his mouth makes contact with your body, you throw your head back and moan. Expert fingers and a skilled tongue quickly bring you to the edge and throw you over it, and he’s moving up your body and pressing his lips to yours as you’re still trying to catch your breath. 

He pulls back and smiles at your expression, before pushing off his boxers and moving over you. He presses into you and you both moan in unison, head thrown back in bliss. He sets a relaxed pace, the drag and pull tortuously slow, leaving you hungry for more. You wrap your legs around him and pull him closer, trying to quicken his pace, and he lets out a laugh. “In a hurry?”

You glare at him, “Don’t make me beg.”

He smiles and winks. “I won’t this time. But next time…”

He trails off before speeding up, and you reach up and give him a deep kiss by way of thank you. You feel your second orgasm start to build, and you try to match Steve’s pace, eager to get there. He moans into your mouth and it goes straight to your core, pushing you towards the edge faster. Seconds later, it hits you, and you moan his name as stars dance in your vision. Steve is right behind you, groaning as he hits his high and rides it out. 

When you both come down, he rolls off you and moves to the other side of the bed. You both get under the covers and lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, before you roll towards him. He turns to look at you, and you take a deep breath. “I love our holiday party tradition, but I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you outside the month of December.”

He lets out a laugh, but his expression quickly grows serious. “We both work a lot, and I couldn’t commit to-”

You pull a face and cut him off. “No one said anything about commitment. It’d be the same thing we’re doing now, except it wouldn’t be during the holiday party. Just sex. No strings attached.”

“No strings attached?”

You nod. “None.”

“Okay, deal.” You both lay looking at each other for a minute before Steve smiles and asks, “Got any holiday plans?”

Something about the normalcy of it makes you laugh, which makes his smile widen as he watches you. “I’m hoping to be free for the first time in a while, but I’m thinking that with the way that Fury works, that’s not happening. That man does not know how to take a break.”

Steve snorts, “No kidding. Well, if you were free, what would you do?”

You roll onto your back, shifting your gaze to the ceiling as you consider your plans. “Probably just go home, see my parents. Holidays were always…lackluster when I was growing up, but my mom always makes cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. It’s the only tradition we ever really had.”

You close your eyes, thinking about why that is, the reasons your holidays and celebrations were always so muted growing up, and even now, after all this time, the emotions still threaten to rise. You take a deep breath and calm yourself before glancing at Steve again, who is watching you closely. “Anyways, I haven’t been home in years. Always working.”

His smile is soft when he jokes, “I think you work as much as I do.”

“More than the Captain himself?” This time, it’s your turn to snort out a laugh. “Not likely.”

He smiles before he looks away, shrugging as he offers, “Well, I could always pull some strings, get you some vacation time.”

You immediately shake your head, refusing the offer. “I could never never ask you to do that. Besides, I like to work. Gives me less time to think.”

“About your brother?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, and you give him a sharp look. “How do you know about that?”

He looks sheepish, but he says nothing, and you start to wonder if he’s read your employee file. He never says either way, but you suppose it’s not a secret at this point, and maybe you should stop pretending that it is. “Yeah, about my brother. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when he was 16. But I guess that’s Hell’s Kitchen for you, right?”

You sigh, shaking your head to clear away the sorrow. “Anyways, that’s the reason we never celebrated much growing up. Every birthday after 16 was another year that I got and he didn’t. Every holiday felt like we were celebrating with a ghost, his presence so heavy in the room it used to make me feel sick. But cinnamon rolls were his favorite, so mom used to make them every Christmas morning. It’s the only way my parents ever really acknowledged him, so I guess I kind of clung to that.”

Steve shakes his head, “What do you mean?”

You think of the small notebook that still goes everywhere with you, though you’d never admit it to anyone. “For a few years after his death, I was on the hunt for the best cinnamon rolls in our town. And then when I joined Shield and started traveling for work, I expanded my search to the world.”

“Have you found them yet? The best ones, I mean.”

You shake your head, smiling a little. “Not yet, mom’s always come out on top. But I always feel like my brother’s with me when I’m eating them. Maybe that’s weird, but…”

You trail off, not wanting to say more and make Steve think you’re a weirdo, and you silently curse his inviting spirit, because it always makes you want to spill your guts to him. He’s just so damn good at listening. But just when you think he’s gonna hop out of bed and leave you in the dust, Steve shakes his head, his brows furrowed, looking like he understands you more than anyone else in the world. “No, definitely not weird. It’s nice to find things that remind us of the good times, and not the loss we’ve experienced.”

You watch him closely, sure that he must have a million losses at this point. It seems to cling to him, his body tense as he tries to carry the weight of the past, and you wonder if anyone asks him about it. Does he have anyone to spill his guts to? Maybe Bucky. But maybe Bucky doesn’t want to relive the past, what then? Who helps Steve Rogers carry his loss?

Surprising yourself, you reach across the space between you and run a finger between his brows, smoothing them down before you trail your hand over his face, letting it rest on his cheek. He leans into your touch and you whisper, “What’s your thing?”

Despite the vague question, you know that he understands what you’re asking. He seems surprised, before he quickly pulls away from you, rolling away to turn off the light and stare at the ceiling. “Nothing.”

You try not to feel hurt at the rejection to divulge more about himself, because you know Steve is private. Always has been. Still, after a few years of holiday party meet ups, you hoped he would trust you more. Though you suppose that everyone handles loss differently, and maybe Steve’s thing is that he keeps it to himself. You’re more than okay with that, so you try to ease his tension by whispering into the darkness, “As long as it’s not cinnamon rolls. That’s my thing.”

You hear him let out a soft laugh and you smile to yourself, both of you sitting in silence for a while. Eventually you hear his breathing start to slow and deepen, and soon after, yours does the same.

-

Steve rolls over before the light crests over the horizon, an action so routine to him that he no longer requires an alarm clock to do so. He stretches out slowly, muscles pulling and catching, and the soreness in his limbs reminds him of the night before. He turns toward you, wondering what he’ll say if you’re awake, but finding that no such thought is necessary. Your side of the bed is empty, save for the note on your pillow. He fights back the feeling of disappointment, and as he lifts the note, he hopes he didn’t hurt your feelings last night and cause you to leave. He takes a breath and reads the note quickly, trying to read your tone between the lines. 

_Crisis in Moscow, duty calls._

_See you soon._

-


	2. ii. spring will wash what’s left of the taste (of you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: discussions of death, smut, language.
> 
> summary: a chance meeting in japan gives you the opportunity to take advantage of your arrangement with steve.

_March 19, Kumamoto, Japan._

You walk along the street in Kumamoto, and smile as the wind blows a flurry of cherry blossom petals towards you. You shake them free from your hair and watch as they flutter to the ground around you like pretty pink snow. Spring in Japan is beautiful, and it’s a welcome change to the New York snow.

Your phone dings in your pocket and you reach for it, eyes scanning the message on the screen. You’re pulled back into reality when you crash into someone, sending both of you falling. The man hits the ground with an angry cry, and his suitcase hits the ground beside him, scattering the contents inside. You jump up and scramble towards him, picking up fallen papers and folders as you go. “I’m so sorry, that was completely my mistake!”

He seems unimpressed, but nods in thanks when you hand him the papers, and you help him to his feet with a flurry of apologies, in both Japanese and English. He seems to accept your apologies before walking away, leaving you alone on the street. You look down at the phone in your left hand, smiling at the unfamiliar device, before leaning down and grabbing your fallen phone. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and pull a small SD card from your pocket, quickly inserting it into the man’s phone. You slide his phone into your pocket and look around for him, watching as he veers off the sidewalk and into a small cafe. You follow the same path, checking the phone periodically to ensure the download is going smoothly. When you see the progress bar reach 100%, you pull the card from his phone and put it beside your phone in your other pocket, before following the man into the cafe and stepping into line behind him. He moves forward to order, and when the cashier announces his total, you step up beside him. “Let me pay for it.”

You dig around in your pockets for the right amount of money, but the man shakes his head, trying to stop him. You pull the money out anyways, turning to the man with a smile. “Please, I insist. As an apology.”

Finally, he relents, and as you step forward and hand the money to the cashier, you use your other hand to carefully slide his phone into his pocket. You step back and he thanks you, and you give him a nod. “It’s the least I could do.”

He moves away to the end of the bar to pick up his drink, leaving you to order. “A small matcha tea please.”

The barista gives you the total and you pass her the money, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the man grab his drink and leave. With a satisfied smile you pull out your phone and text the only number saved. 

_Got your drink. Meet at the usual?_

Your drink is placed at the end of the bar, and you thank the barista as you grab it and turn to leave. Your phone dings as you head to the door, and you glance at the screen as you step outside into the bright afternoon sun. 

_See you there._

You leave the cafe and head to the Suizenji Jojuen Garden, so you can meet the agent for the drop. The walk is nice, and you enjoy the fresh air and scenery immensely, hoping you get to spend a little more time in Japan before you have to head to your next location. When you reach the garden, you move to the bridge that overlooks the water and find a spot to get comfortable in. It’s usually a few minutes before the agent shows, so you spend the time admiring the view and watching the cherry blossoms fall from the trees. He shows up a few minutes later, and stands next to you, asking. “Enjoying the view?”

The familiar voice pulls you from your thoughts and you turn your head towards him quickly. “Steve?”

His blue eyes lock with yours and his brows lift in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

You scoff, “I’m collecting intel, as agents do. What are _you_ doing here? Avengers don’t normally do drops.”

He turns and looks out at the water, “I was on my way back from South Korea and Tony asked if I’d stop by to get some intel from an agent in Kumamoto. I didn’t know it’d be you.”

You snort, “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean-”

You hold up a hand to stop him, “Relax.” You pass him the now empty matcha cup with the SD card secured inside. “Here’s your tea.”

“Thanks.”

You both stand silently, staring out at the water, before speaking at the same time. 

“Do you want to come back to-”

“Well, I guess I’d better get-”

You both stop at the same time, before you motion for Steve to speak first. “I should get back to the Quinjet. What were you saying?”

Your brows lift in surprise, and you let the invitation back to your room die in your throat. “Oh, yeah, same.”

“It was good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

You give him a small wave and turn to leave, moving quickly to put distance between you and Steve, you and this garden, you and this awkward situation. You start to think your question in December really upset him, because you haven’t heard from him since. And yeah, you’ve been working a lot, but if things were okay, the meeting in the park wouldn’t have been that…weird. You shake the thoughts from your head, trying to delete the interaction from your memory, thankful when you reach the hotel quickly, distracted by the thoughts in your head. You head to your room with a sigh of relief, locking the door before kicking your shoes off. As you do, your phone rings from your pocket, and you check the caller ID, answering quickly when you recognize the number. “This is Shield’s best agent speaking.”

Maria Hill’s laugh crackles through the phone, “Try worst agent. You didn’t even check if the line was secure before announcing who you work for.”

You smile, “I knew I didn’t have to because you already did.”

You can’t see her, but you know she’s rolling her eyes, because you’re right. Hill knows what she’s doing, and she does all the technical stuff for you, making your job a hell of a lot easier. “How was the drop?”

You cringe, reminded of the awkward interaction. “It was fine. Coulda told me that Jeff wasn’t doing the drop anymore.”

“Sorry, last minute change.” A pause, and then, “Wait, why? Did something happen with Steve?”

You shake your head, temporarily forgetting she can’t see you. “No, no, no, it was fine. Everything was good.”

“Okay…” She draws the word out, and you know she’s unconvinced. Still, she doesn’t pry. “Well, that gives you two extra days in Kumamoto, work free. Enjoy them. I’ll see you back in D.C. in a few days.”

“See you then.”

You drop your phone to the bed before moving into the bathroom and starting a bath. As the tub fills, you head to the hotel phone and call a nearby delivery service, placing an order for a few different meals, deciding to treat yourself now that you have a couple of days off. Minutes later, your food is ordered and you’re chin deep in lavender scented water, the warm water starting to melt your worries away. You clean up slowly, taking your time to relax in the bath until the water turns cool. As you’re leaning forward to pull the drain, you hear a knock at the door, and assuming it’s your food you quickly wrap a towel around your body and head out of the bathroom. On the way to the door you grab your gun, just in case, before moving to check the peephole. But instead of finding the delivery driver you expected, you instead see Steve Rogers standing at your door, holding your food. 

You put your gun on the chair near the door before unlocking it and pulling it open. He eyes you up and down, and you look back at him in confusion. “What are you-”

Before you can finish the sentence, he steps towards you and pulls you in for a kiss. Your lips crash together, hard, but there is none of the awkward tension from before. He guides you into the room and kicks the door closed, dropping the food bag unceremoniously near the door, forgotten in the haze of lust. He guides you back towards the bed in the room, both of you in a hurry, evident by the clothes he drops on his way across the room. Your towel joins his discarded clothes somewhere along in the journey, and when you reach the bed, it doesn’t take long until you’re writhing and moaning beneath him, calling his name as he takes you over the edge.

When your high dissipates, the two of you lay in silence like you normally do, until you decide to finish your post bath routine. You roll out of the bed, leaving Steve sprawled across the sheets watching you, and you scoop his shirt up on the way to the bathroom, pulling it over your head. You pull on a pair of underwear and grab some lotion, moving to stand in the doorway as you apply it, giving you a good view of Steve. “How’d you know where I was?”

You swear you see his cheeks heat up when he answers, “Hill.”

You smile and shake your head, “Should’ve known.”

He watches you moisturize, silent, and you’re the first one to break the silence again. “I thought you forgot.” He quirks a brow, and you clarify, “About the arrangement.”

“Oh. No, I just wasn’t sure if that’s what you still wanted. You never reached out after the party.”

“Honestly, I haven’t really had the chance. I haven’t been home since the party. After my week in D.C. next week, I finally get to go back. I was gonna call you then.”

“Looks like I beat you to the punch.”

You smirk at him, “Looks like it.”

You step back into the bathroom, finishing up your routine quickly, and when you’re halfway through brushing your hair, you call out, “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“What?”

You finish brushing your hair before stepping back into the room, and you repeat, “Do you want to stay for dinner? Since you did bring it up to the room.”

A strange look passes over his face, and for a second, you’re sure he’s going to say no and bolt, giving you the cold shoulder like he did in December, but he surprises you by smiling and nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You smile in return and grab the bag from the door, setting the food up on the low coffee table in the room, sitting on the floor beside it. Steve pulls his pants on before he joins you, both of you sitting across from each other on the floor, and for a while you enjoy a comfortable silence, pushing dishes across the table to share, quietly enjoying your meals. You’re in the middle of shoving a large bite of noodles into your mouth when Steve suddenly says, “Paper cranes.”

You look up at him with absolute bewilderment, quickly chewing the noodles in your mouth to ask, “What?”

“Last time you asked me what my thing is. It’s paper cranes.”

“Oh.” You say nothing else, too afraid it’ll break the moment, that he’ll change his mind and close up again, but he doesn’t. As you put your fork down, a faraway look passes over his face and he mutters, “My mom died when I was 18. Tuberculosis. But before that, when she was sick and still alive, I used to visit her. All the nurses that used to help her were friends of hers, because she was a nurse too. And one day, one of them told me about 1000 origami cranes. According to Japanese legend, anyone that folds 1000 paper cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. The nurse told me that maybe if I folded 1000 paper cranes and wished for her to live, she’d be okay.”

Steve pauses for a minute, and you watch him closely, too afraid to say anything. “I was desperate to save her life, so I spent weeks folding cranes out of any paper I could find. Scraps, old artwork, it didn’t matter. If it could save my mom’s life, I wanted to do it.”

He takes a deep breath before his eyes lock on yours, heavy with sadness. “She died before I finished.”

You feel your heart break for Steve, tiny 18 year old Steve left alone in the world without his parents, his mom dying before he could finish trying to save her. You reach out across the table and take his hand, and despite the intimacy of it, he lets you, smiling at your intertwined fingers before he adds, “When I knew Peggy was nearing the end, I folded cranes for her too. This time, I knew they couldn’t save her, but I wished that she wouldn’t suffer the way my ma did.”

“Did it work?”

“She died peacefully in her sleep, so I like to think it did.”

You smile a little and squeeze his hand, and he whispers, “Now, I make them when I need to remember. Because sometimes, you just need to remember.”

“I know what that’s like.”

He looks at you with surprise, “You do?”

You nod, dropping his hand to head to your suitcase, pulling the leatherbound notebook from between the neatly stacked layers of clothes. When you sit down across from Steve again, you push the book towards him, despite your promise to yourself to never show it to anyone. “Remember the cinnamon rolls I told you about?”

He nods, reaching for the book though he never pulls it open. “I keep track of every cinnamon roll I’ve ever eaten since my brother died, and I write about it in this journal. I rank them and talk about it as if I was telling it to him. I know he’s dead and he’ll never read this, but I like to remember what it was like to talk to him, share food with him. To be his little sister.”

This time Steve reaches out to take your hand, lifting it to press a kiss to your knuckles. “Do you want to talk about him?”

Your brows lift in surprise, always shocked that Steve just seems to _know_. “I haven’t really talked about him in years. My parents found it easier to pretend he never existed. I would beg and beg for them to acknowledge it, for them to talk about him and his death, but they never would. Eventually I gave up, agreed to the silent family decision of erasing him from my memory.”

You shake your head, tears pricking your eyes. “Of course I never did though. How do you erase someone who’s a part of you? How do you live your life knowing you got more time than they did? Maybe it was easier for my parents because they didn’t have to stop pretending to be parents. They still had me. But how do you stop being a sister? You can’t. He may be gone, but I don’t want to pretend like he didn’t exist. Not anymore.”

Steve is watching you closely, making you feel seen, though not in an uncomfortable way. And as if he knows exactly what to say, he asks, “What’s the earliest memory you have of him?”

You think for a moment, running through your memories of your brother, smiling when you land on one that you think is the earliest. “I had to be about 5 or 6, and…”

-

Later, after you spend hours telling Steve about your brother, you lay in bed beside him, both of you quiet for the first time in a while. His hand holds yours beneath the sheets, and as you both sit in the dark, waiting for sleep to take you, you whisper, “I’m glad you came to Japan.”

“Me too.”

And that’s the last thing he says before you both fall asleep.

-

The sun is high in the sky before you finally wake up and roll out of bed. You’re unsurprised to find that Steve is gone, but left in his place is a paper crane and a note on his pillow. You smile as you pick the crane up and admire it, folded on hotel stationery with expert fingers. You set it aside before lifting the note and reading,

_Call me when you get to New York._

_See you soon._

_-Steve_

_-_


End file.
